


Warriors: Rewritten - Shorts

by FatalBlow



Series: Warriors: Rewritten [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Break Up, Forbidden Love, ShadowClan (Warriors), Shorts, ThunderClan (Warriors), WindClan (Warriors), finally finished the second short lmaoooo, i'll add to the tags as i write more shorts, if you haven't read that you aren't going to know what's going on lmao, this is for the universe my rewrite is set in!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalBlow/pseuds/FatalBlow
Summary: A variety of shorts that take place in my Warriors: Rewritten universe.  Because I only plan on rewriting the main series even and I can't fit everything I've thought of/changed, it's easier to have a series of short stories instead.  Please make sure you're up to date on Warriors: Rewritten or else you're gonna get spoilers/not understand what's going on.
Relationships: Bluefur & Snowfur, Yellowfang/Raggedpelt
Series: Warriors: Rewritten [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887265
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. Backs Turned

**Author's Note:**

> The story of Yellowfang and Raggedstar's breakup following Brokenstar's adoption.

It was a cloudy dawn, chilly for a summer morning. Exhaustion dragged at Yellowfang’s paws—she hadn’t slept in nearly two nights now. All for nothing, it seemed, as Foxheart’s breaths were laboured, no better that morning than it had been at dusk.

The sharp smell of doe’s foot had been constant and cloying since the beginning of this pandemic, but Yellowfang wasn’t sure what the point of it was. Curing the fluid buildup in the lungs of her patients didn’t stop the mysterious Carrionplace disease from eating away at its victims. It spared them the symptoms, did nothing for the cause.

Worst of all, the disease attacked young and strong cats. She’d lost five warriors to death, another two to permanent lung damage, and she knew by the next dawn that Foxheart would bring the death count to six. Her only comfort was that Foxheart was the last warrior with the illness—quarantined outside of camp under the diving bows of a pine tree.

“Yellowfang!”

She paused on her way to her makeshift nest, settling onto her haunches as Raggedstar shouldered her way through the branches. The needles had little to contribute to her tattered pelt, savaged by scars after a run-in with an unusually hostile rat colony. Another reason, Yellowfang thought, to stay the hell away from Carrionplace. The place held nothing but evil.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Yellowfang growled. “Do you _want_ to get sick?”

“Now that I have my lives, I’m fine,” she insisted. “And I don’t think I’ll be catching it. If you’re old enough not to catch it, I think I’m fine.”

She loved her mate’s confidence nearly as much as she despised it, but she would take her mate as Shadowclan’s ‘star over Cedarstar any day. The miserable old tom had been the one to send their warriors to Carrionplace at the end of winter, wanting to stave off starvation. Well, he staved it off alright, then lost his lives one by one to the illness that he’d exposed his clan to in the first place.

“How’s Foxheart?” Raggedstar asked, cutting through her exhaustion.

“Dead by dawn,” she said flatly.

Raggedstar winced, but Yellowfang had numbed herself to the loss after watching the other five warriors succumb. It was the only way not to feel their deaths in the deepest parts of her.

“It’s not your fault,” Raggedstar said anyways, like she needed some sort of comfort.

“I know that.”

“I’m just telling you that you did all you could. And it wasn’t all bad. You saved Cinderfur and Newtspeck.”

“I didn’t save them a lifetime of pain,” she retorted. “They’ll never breathe the same again, just like Lightcloud—and on that matter, shouldn’t you be telling her that her daughter won’t be making it? Why are you here?”

“Nightpelt can handle the clan,” she said. “I wanted to spend the rest of this quarantine with you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sure your deputy is pleased to be running the clan while you’re flouncing about in here with me.”

“Do you really think you’ve failed because Cinderfur and Newtspeck can’t be full warriors?” Raggedstar asked gently, ignoring her snide remarks.

She was truly too tired to have this argument, but of any cat in the clan, Raggedstar had always had a way of dragging things out of her, no matter how she felt.

“No, I do know that I did all I could for them,” she said. “I’m fucking tired, Moose. You’re really going to listen to the shit that comes out of my mouth?”

Raggedstar chuckled softly as she sat beside her, pressing her warmth into her. “I could listen to you for days.”

“None of that shit. Thought you got it out of your damn system years ago.”

She huffed as Raggedstar’s tongue rasped against the side her head. “That’s just proof that I missed you, Shale.”

Maybe she had missed her mate. Missed the quiet way they would use their old names before life and injury had brought them new ones, before traditions of battle pride dictated that they identify by the things that had happened in their lives, wearing victory scars both on pelt and on name.

Shaleclaw. She didn’t miss the name, per se. Perhaps the days when she’d had it, though, before she’d stepped into Sagewhisker’s den and demanded that the murderous snow coat molly take her as an apprentice, turning her back on her days as a warrior forever for the singular sake of her clan. When she’d been content by Raggedstar’s, Moosepelt at the time, side, watching her mate strive for the title of deputy and eventually leader.

She relaxed into Raggedstar, finally letting the ‘star guide her towards the makeshift nest.

“What about Foxheart?” she rasped, resisting just before settling among the moss and ferns.

“I’ll keep an ear out for her,” Raggedstar said. “You look like you haven’t slept since you were kitted, though, and I assume you doped her up on sleeping panther anyways.”

“I did.” And frankly she wouldn’t mind being doped up on it either.

“Then she’s fine,” she soothed, nudging her until she finally laid down. “I’ll make sure she passes easily.”

Like she predicted, Foxheart barely made it until the next dawn. Now suffering the loss of both her daughter and her mate, Lightcloud seemed to break, and there was little Yellowfang could do but watch her fall into a depression, even as the rest of the clan slowly recovered.

Though she told Raggedstar she was fine, she hurt more than she wanted to admit. Numbness could only do so much. Now that her den was empty, though, she had time to grieve, and no one would see her do so, not even her mate. No illness in her clan, no wars in the forest, she could rest.

Or so she thought.

Rockpelt and Applefur came to the clan first. Rockpelt a jittery mess from the deepest parts of the town, Applefur an idealistic molly from the northern farms. Though some cats had protested letting two full grown outsiders—Lizardstripe’s voice always the loudest—into the clan, Raggedstar had good taste. She seemed to know perfectly which cats would prosper in Shadowclan and which wouldn’t.

The other clans side-eyed them. Bluestar, Thunderclan’s leader nearly two years running now, had had the audacity to make a snide comment. Rich, Yellowfang thought, after the stone guardians had gleefully told her that Bluestar’s predecessor, Pinestar, hadn’t died, but simply run off to play house cat, presumably growing bored of forest life and leaving behind a mate and sickly kittens.

This was a good time to bring new cats into the clan and let them grow acclimated, though, while the forest was relatively at peace. Save for the Thunders and the Rivers’ normal posturing over a bunch of warm rocks, of course, but what little was there to do except ignore that particular quarrel.

Near the end of summer, not so long after the birth of Lizardstripe’s unfortunate litter (unfortunate for the kits, Yellowfang thought, as Lizardstripe angrily insisted that her accidental children were her “burden to bear”), Raggedstar found a kitten.

Scooped off the border as a half dead scrap of fur, Raggedstar had all but sprinted into her den with the poor thing in her mouth.

Yellowfang arched her back and hissed with surprise as her mate crashed through the bushes. “Do you have a damn fox on your tail, Moose?!” she snarled.

Raggedstar gently lowered the scrap of ginger tabby fur into the nearest nest and climbed into it with him. The kitten’s tail was crooked right in the middle. It wailed miserably.

“I saw a sign,” Raggedstar puffed. “You need to help him.”

“A sign?” she echoed, lip curling.

“Silverpelt was looking right down on him,” she insisted. “He’ll be important to the clan’s future, Shale. Please tell me he’s okay.”

Skeptical, seeing that _she_ was the healer and not Raggedstar, Yellowfang nonetheless gave the kitten a once over. It shrieked the entirely time, but soon enough she knew why. There was nothing wrong with the thing. A little cold, a little damp, but mostly he was simply hungry.

And she told Raggedstar as much.

“Good luck shoving another kitten onto Lizardstripe, though,” she added. “That miserable old bitch would have whinged my ears off if I still had them.”

Raggedstar sighed, but seemed relieved. “Lizardstripe had every opportunity to ask Oakflower to take them on—she still had milk…”

“Mm. I suppose you could ask Oakflower to take on this thing. I can find some kitten’s down to have her milk come again.”

“I’ll do that. Wouldn’t want to subject the poor scrap to Lizardstripe,” she said with a half-laugh. “What should we name him?”

“’We?’” Yellowfang echoed, the fur along her spine beginning to spike up.

Raggedstar grimaced. She sat up, letting the kitten sit between her front paws, dipping her head almost to make herself seem smaller as she peered at Yellowfang. Yellowfang, for her part, did _not_ like where this was going.

“I know we said no kittens,” she said slowly.

“We’re still saying no kittens,” Yellowfang snapped. “ _I’m_ saying no kittens.”

“Can we please compromise, though? It’s one little tom, Shale, already a month grown—”

“You say that like that means we stop being parents at six months,” she interrupted.

“I just mean the tough stages!”

All of Yellowfang’s fur bushed out. “Damn the tough stages, Moose, there’s certainly no easy ones! I don’t want children! We agreed—”

“I just want to have this conversation—”

“We bloody agreed years ago on the matter of fucking kittens!” she yowled.

Raggedstar’s tail had begun to twitch. Her fur had begun to bush out. Now, like a dam broken loose, she snarled at Yellowfang. “I’m trying to have conversation with you and you’re yelling at me,” she growled, barely keeping her voice even.

Yellowfang hissed fiercely, but forced her voice lower. “Yes I’m yelling at you because you’re disrespecting a decision we came to years ago,” she said. “I have a damn right to be pissed at you.”

“For asking to reopen this conversation?”

“You can open it up all you want but I’m fucking closing it again,” she retorted. “I’m not taking on a kitten. Give it to Oakflower to foster. The clan will raise it.”

“I… I want to raise him,” she said. “Starclan sent him to _me_ , Shale. How could I turn my back on him?”

“And it doesn’t bother you that you’re turning your back on me in the process?”

“He’s star sent—”

“Star sent my ass, he doesn’t need your tending to turn out right,” she said. “If you choose to be his mother, then you choose to do it alone. I want no truck with kittens.”

Raggedstar didn’t say anything for a moment. She’d stopped looking at her, stopped giving her a look that so many times before Yellowfang had bent to—but not this time. Not this time. And then, without another word, she took the kitten and walked out of the den.

The moment she was gone, Yellowfang turned back to her herbs.


	2. On Frigid Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Frostfur and Brindleface's true origins.

On the coldest night of the season, Bluefur was out in the middle of the forest.

Even with her fur bushed out, a rabbit pelt draped across her to keep out the wind the best it could, she felt frozen solid. The forest was empty—to be expected on a night like this. No hunting for prey when there was no prey to be found. The clan would go hungry until the weather lightened up.

Pushing through the snow with her was her sister, Snowfur, her pale form just about invisible. Bluefur had given her the larger, thicker pelt to cover her, but she shivered nonetheless as they made their way towards Fourtrees. On her other side was Smallear, his ears back and his eyes wide, looking worried.

Snowfur stopped where the snow was shallow, panting as another contraction wracked her body. Her kits were well on their way.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Bluefur growled at Smallear. “I can’t believe you have us out here on the coldest damn night of the season, tromping a pregnant queen all the way to the border—”

“You think I want this?!” Smallear snapped. “This is the only chance Cloudwhisker has—”

“Maybe if you weren’t fraternizing with Wind mollies we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with,” she snarled. “Maybe if you had a little loyalty to your clan—”

“You don’t know anything about what it’s like to be in love!” he yelled.

“Will you two shut up?” Snowfur gasped. “I don’t _care_ who’s at fault. If Cloudwhisker wants those kittens to grow up with their father, then I’ll let them grow up with you, Smallear.”

“We should report you to Pinestar,” Bluefur said to Smallear. “Where’s your loyalty to your clan?”

“Love isn’t finite,” Snowfur said, straightening as the contraction subsided. “Neither is loyalty. Smallear is still a loyal warrior.”

“I would die for Thunderclan,” he agreed. “And it doesn’t matter anyways. Cloudwhisker and I haven’t been seeing each other since before she found out she was having kittens. It didn’t work out.”

“I don’t see what’s stopping you from—”

“Bluefur,” Snowfur said, “please stop. All that matters now is that Smallear’s kittens are waiting for me.”

She shook her head, but Snowfur had already heaved herself to her feet to continue walking. Shooting a glare at Smallear, Bluefur followed her.

There didn’t seem to be a thing Smallear could do to make Snowfur think poorly of him. It was a trend, really, Snowfur tying herself to toms with shitty attitudes and defending their every action. At least she knew better than to tell Thistleclaw that part of his litter would be Smallear’s half-clan brood. She dreaded to think of what he would do.

Finally they reached the Gathering place. Bluefur led Snowfur to one of the Great Oaks to settle under its roots, as shielded from the wind as possible. Her contractions were coming quicker and stronger, but she handled each one with steely determination.

“Are you sure about this?” Bluefur asked seriously.

“I don’t think I would come out here in this weather if I wasn’t sure,” she said flatly. “If you’re so against this, why are you here? Why don’t _you_ report this to Pinestar if it bothers you so much?”

Bluefur positioned herself at the entrance of the hollow, using her body to block snow from blowing in. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she cracked her eyes open, she stared at her sister, her soft white fur, the stripes on her points, the determined look in her pale blue orbs. Maybe she underestimated her. But when she put so much faith and love into Smallear and Thistleclaw, it was hard to trust her.

“Because you’re my sister,” she said. “And even if I don’t agree with your decisions—”

“Or respect them, obviously.”

She flattened her ears. “I’ll still support you, Snowfur. It’s your life. Your bad decisions to make.”

“Like you’re so perfect.”

“You should focus on your kits,” Bluefur said. “Not arguing with me.”

As she said that, another contraction gripped her sister. She watched and felt helpless as Snowfur hissed air through her lungs, sinking her claws into the leaf litter beneath her. She couldn’t imagine having kits of her own. Going through this pain. And all for a family? All for a tom with a superiority complex?

She raised her head as Smallear and Cloudwhisker approached, two tiny kits, perhaps not even a week old, gripped in their jaws. Bluefur let them in.

Cloudwhisker looked a lot like Snowfur. Leggy and elegant, though bonier and stringier with Windclan blood. Her kittens, though, with Smallear’s stubby legs and thicker build, would pass as inheriting Snowfur’s build. It couldn’t have been more perfect, as if Starclan themselves knew where these kits would end up.

Sitting near Snowfur’s head, Cloudwhisker transferred the grey tabby kitten to her arms, cradling her as she bent over Snowfur. “Thank you for this,” she said. “Thank you for taking on Smallear’s daughters.”

“Smallear’s my best friend,” Snowfur rasped, forcing a purr. “I would do anything for him.”

“Why not just give up your kittens to be fostered?” Bluefur asked. “If you don’t want them…”

“Because they’re Smallear’s kits as much as they are mine,” she said, raising her chin and meeting Bluefur’s eyes like a challenge. “I know clan law, but to me the sire is as important as the queen. If he wants to raise them, then he deserves to have them.”

“And how much raising do you think he’s going to do when they’re supposed to be Snowfur and Thistleclaw’s?” she retorted.

“Bluefur, he’s my best friend,” Snowfur growled. “And once the kits are old enough, we’ll tell them the truth. If you want to be helpful, then shut up.”

There was little else she _could_ do. She was no healer, had no experience with childbirth, and could only watch as Cloudwhisker gently coached Snowfur through her labour. Her daughters lay cradled in the curve of their new mother’s belly, crying out as the cold continued to cling to their fur.

A grip of fur took hold of Bluefur. What if Snowfur had too many kittens? For a clan cat, four kittens was very uncommon, but it still happened. Five kittens was practically unheard of, especially when conceived in a season of such slim pickings. Anymore than that? Completely laughable. Every cat would know that she was lying about some of the kittens’ origins. She wouldn’t be able to get away without being challenged.

Or what if she didn’t survive this birth at all? She was out as far as could be from any possible healer. No proper den and no herbs to help her. Bluefur swore she could smell the tang of blood.

“Is she going to be okay?” she blurted out.

Cloudwhisker shot her a sympathetic look. “She’ll be fine. It looks like she has two kits, and the first one is about to be born.”

And sure enough, just moments later, Snowfur let out a breath of relief. Cloudwhisker took the kitten and ordered Smallear to lap at it until its thin wails pierced the quiet of the makeshift den. The second kitten soon followed, but its cries did not join its sibling’s.

Soon, Cloudwhisker stepped away, head bowed. “I’m sorry, Snowfur. I tried to get him to breathe, but I think he was born dead.”

Bluefur’s heart clenched for her sister. Smallear gently moved the dead kitten to Snowfur’s paws, letting her push her nose into its pale fur.

“Your death was noble, my son,” she whispered. “Go to Starclan. Let them bring you back as someone great.”

“I’ll stand here,” Smallear whispered to Bluefur, giving her shoulder a nudge. “Go to your family.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She circled around behind Snowfur and crouched beside her, watching as her litter burrowed blindly into her fur and began to suckle. Cloudwhisker’s kittens looked perfect there, like they belonged. A pure white molly and her grey tabby sister. And now with a white brother—a brother, Bluefur was certain, who would grow to have his mother’s tabby points.

“In three month’s time, I’ll name them,” Snowfur said, finally raising her head away from her dead son. “What do you want them to be called?”

Smallear looked uncomfortable. “We can’t name them now,” he said anxiously. “If they die young, they’ll never have a chance to try again.”

“Then give me…suggestions,” she said. “Don’t tell me which kitten each name is for. Just give me ideas.”

Smallear and Cloudwhisker shared a look. “I like Frost,” she spoke first. “Fitting, considering this night.”

“Brindle,” Smallear said. “For the other one.”

“Frost and Brindle,” Snowfur murmured, a purr swelling in her throat. “They’re perfect, Smallear.”

Cloudwhisker let out a breath, gazing fondly at the daughters she was giving up. What could she possibly be feeling, Bluefur wondered? Did it hurt to give up her own flesh and blood? Two daughters who she’d shared everything with, who had grown inside her for two months? Was she happy that they would go to such a good home? Did she regret their very birth?

She would never have the chance to ask. “Thank you again, Snowfur,” Cloudwhisker said, dipping her head. “They’ll make wonderful Thunderclan cats.”

She turned to leave, pausing beside Smallear to gaze at him. The look on her face was purely melancholic, aching for a lifetime they could have spent together, parenting their litter together.

“We made a good match while it lasted, my love,” she murmured. “I’m sorry it has to end like this.”

“There were worse ways to end it, my little bloom,” he whispered back. “I think this was the best way it could have.”

“Me too. Good luck. I don’t think we should speak again after this.”

His eyes sparked with hurt. “I know. You’re right. But I’ll miss you.”

They pressed their foreheads together for a brief moment, and then Cloudwhisker was gone. The snow swallowed her up quickly, and it was like she’d never been there at all. Smallear remained by the door, eyes squeezed shut as if he were drinking in the final hints of her the scent she’d left behind.

“The storm’s dying down,” Bluefur remarked. “We should try to sleep. Here, wait.”

She shrugged off her pelt and instructed Smallear to help her. Using their knives as well as Snowfur’s, they pinned the pelt over the doorway, successfully keeping out the worst of the wind.

“Thank you,” Snowfur whispered to Bluefur as she curled up beside her. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“You were tired. In pain. Stressed. I get it.” Shamefully, she added: “And anyways, I’ve said plenty worse to you.”

Snowfur pressed her muzzled into hers. “We both say shitty things sometimes. It’ll never tear us apart.”

“I know, Snowfur. I know.”


	3. Lost in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Leopardfoot, Tigerclaw's mother.

Leopardfoot had never felt particularly special to be the mate of the ‘star. She wanted to tell herself, and others, that it was because deep down she knew Pinestar was a normal cat, like anyone else.

The truth was in the way he looked at her.

“Pinestar? Can I talk to you?” she called from the entrance to his den. His eyes flashed from within, and a moment later he slid out, standing before her at his full height.

He was a handsome tom. His deep green eyes and ruddy brown fur, struck through with vivid striping, had drawn the eyes of many. But his eyes had never been drawn to another, it seemed. Even now, when he looked at her, it was more through her.

“Yes, my love?” he asked.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said. As she passed, she brushed her tail along the underside of his chin. He pulled away.

For a time they walked in silence. Leopardfoot felt a bit sick to her stomach, and not just from anxiety. The kittens in her belly disturbed her gut as they grew—or at least that was what Featherwhisker had told her.

As they approached the Houses, she finally blurted out: “I’m having kittens, Pinestar.”

He sat, tail curled neatly around his paws. Now he looked as if seeing her for the first time. Her heart swelled, until she realized…

Was that dismay?

“I thought you wanted kittens,” she said quietly.

“I think…want is a strong word,” he said carefully. “I have a powerful bloodline. My father and his mother were leader and healer respectively. It’s not blood to be wasted, and I’m the last of this line.”

“You’re just dodging around the subject. Do you want kittens?”

He blinked at her. “They’re here now, aren’t they?”

She didn’t reply. There were ways to get rid of kittens, of course. Dangerous ways. Poisons, she’d once heard her mother say, spoken with a potent disgust in her tone. It killed the kittens just as surely as it killed the queen carrying them. She’d never had a strong constitution—she preferred to hunt or to craft more than to fight. Would she survive such a thing?

So she stayed quiet. Let Pinestar turn away from her and gaze into the Houses with something she couldn’t place deep within his eyes.

“Why me?” she finally asked. “Why did you choose me?”

He answered without looking. “Because I knew you loved me. It would be easy. Painless.”

Painless for who? she wanted to ask.

“I…should go back to camp,” she said, backing away.

He bowed his head. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

He didn’t return until the dawn sun peeked.

When her kittens were born, Leopardfoot had never felt more at peace. The birth had been hard, two of her three kittens turned every wrong way in her belly, and long after labour she felt weak, but the moment she laid eyes on the three little bundles she knew she would never be as happy as she had been at that moment ever again.

She had never thought that to be literal, though. That loss after loss would chew her up and spit her out. That maybe she really would never be happy again.

They were born in the middle of the day. From across the nursery, Rosetail slept soundly with her twin tortie daughters. Speckletail was outside with her pair, a son and daughter freshly named Goldenkit and Lionkit, enjoying Hiverne’s light. It was a bountiful time for Thunderclan, a lush summer and a nursery full of kittens.

And yet her litter, a son and two daughters, lay meek and quiet against her belly. Featherwhisker was in and out well after her labour finished, bringing new herbs each time. Each left her feeling sicker than the last.

The final time he came in, she asked: “Will they live?”

The look on his face should have been enough. “I’ll do my best, Leopardfoot, but they were born early and weak. A first queen’s litter sometimes is.”

He left afterwards. By nightfall, her first daughter had died before Pinestar even came out of his den to meet her. Rosetail groomed her ears, murmuring that it would be okay. All Leopardfoot could do was stare at her remaining children and wonder which would die next.

But they didn’t, for a time. They at least lived until Pinestar visited the morning after their birth, nearly a full day later.

“Do you want to talk about names?” she asked, desperate for him to speak. Anything was better than watching him stare vacantly.

“They’re too young,” he remarked. “Will they even survive?”

“They’re nursing now,” she said, in part to convince herself, perhaps more than to convince him. “But is there a name you like? We could think about some, like Shade or Night…”

“Darkkit would be a good name.”

“I-I’ll keep that in mind!” she said, resisting the urge to purr with relief. “I really like that name. It would be perfect for the molly. Your daughter.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “I’m quite busy. Sunfall needed to speak with me, so I’ll visit soon.”

Only then did she sleep. She dreamt of her son and her daughter, not unlike the vivid dreams that had plagued her for the time she’d held them in her belly. Darkkit, he wanted to name her. She dreamt about playing in the sun with her, of seeing her grow large and strong enough that she could well and properly be named for the dark. And maybe Pinestar would see, too. See his children and how wonderful they were, and finally feel the bond of a father.

* * *

On the driest day of summer, when the forest begged for a rain to ease the heat, a squeal cut through the dead air.

“Spottedkit! Be gentle with her! She’s still young!”

The young tortoiseshell, freshly named, shot her mother a cross look. “She’s only a bit younger than me.”

Leopardfoot was already there, wrapping a protective tail around her daughter. “A bit younger, and much smaller,” she said pointedly.

It took everything to remain calm. To not box the kitten’s ears off for making her sweet little Darkkit squeal. How such a little piece of work had come of Rosetail’s gentle heart and Thrushpelt soothing nature, she would never know.

Spottedkit huffed. “Well I’m going to see the elders!” she announced before taking off.

Nearby, Redkit played much nicer with her son. He was weaker than his sister, and every day Leopardfoot was certain she would watch him take his last breath. Yet today, he was strong enough to bat a moss ball back and forth.

She tore her eyes away and wrapped her tail even more tightly around the daughter who would soon be Darkkit. She couldn’t bear to look at her son most days. She refused to allow herself to count every hair in his pelt, to look in his eyes and feel like she was truly his mother. How could she, knowing that Starclan waited to tear him away?

“I wanna play,” her daughter complained. She struggled out of Leopardfoot’s grasp, tottering towards Redkit and her brother.

Rosetail came to sit with her, watching as their children batted the ball around.

“I’m sorry about Spottedkit,” she said. “I try to tell her, but… Redkit is much gentler, at least.”

“It’s alright. She’s just a kitten. She’ll learn.”

She nodded. “Your two are going to be named soon,” Rosetail added. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“For her, yes,” she said. “Not for the tom. I don’t know if I’ll name him.”

“No? But he’ll be three months as well.”

She shook her head fiercely. “Look at him. Every breath he takes is a miracle. I can’t bear to name him, then watch him go to Starclan with no second chance.”

“Well…maybe you could talk to Featherwhisker about how he’s doing. He’s playing well now, after all.”

Talk to Featherwhisker. What could he possibly tell her that she didn’t already know? It was fine, though; she’d grieved the loss of her son long ago. As long as she had her sweet little Darkkit, so keen and curious. She fought to explore and play even though she was still so small and weak. Her brother could barely leave the nest on a good day. Barely spoke, even.

She didn’t need a healer to tell her who would live and who wouldn’t.

“Ma, tell me a story?” her daughter squeaked that morning, as Leopardfoot encouraged them to sleep.

“I don’t want to wake your brother,” she said.

She giggled. “Whisper it to me?”

She couldn’t resist. “Well…well how about a story about your Dad?”

“Please!”

“He is, but that’s what makes him a good leader. He hunted a dog, once, you know. Prowled through the forest with two of his greatest warriors, Stormtail and Adderfang. They hunted that dog for a full day, braving Hiverne’s eye to track it through our territory, knowing that if they didn’t find it now then the rest of the clan would never feel safe.

“It was the biggest dog anyone had ever seen. Its teeth were like our knives and just a sharp, and its eyes the colour of blood. It snarled and barked, but your father didn’t back down. He yelled his proudest war cry and attacked. They must have fought for hours, the moons sliding across the sky as they worked hard to drive it from the territory.

“Just when they thought they’d won, though, the dog turned back.”

Her daughter’s eyes flew open and she wanted rigid, leaning closer as if she thought the story might have a bad ending. Biting back a laugh, she continued.

“It lunged straight for Stormtail, nearly snapping him up around the middle. But your father is brave, the bravest cat in Thunderclan. He threw himself in front of Stormtail. The dog took him up in its jaws, but he drew his knife and stabbed it in the eye. He stole its life as it stole one of his—he died for Stormtail, and to this day Stormtail hasn’t forgotten.

“And the bone of that dog, my sweet?” she murmured, purring so as to sooth her daughter as the story wound down. “Your father asked Sparrowfeather to carve it. He made a beautiful, ornate knife—a knife that he gave to me.

“And one day, my dearest, when you’re a proud warrior yourself, I will give this knife to you so that you may give it to your kittens, and they might give it to theirs.”

Her final words were spoken so softly that she could barely hear herself. Her daughter was asleep, her rasping snores filling the air around them. Leopardfoot closed her eyes, letting those breaths lull her to sleep.

She awoke to silence.

It didn’t sink in at first. She raised her head in confusion, wondering where her kits had wandered off to. But there were two lumps nestled in the curve of her belly. Only one breathing.

“My sweet?” she whispered, nudging her daughter.

Now her breaths came wild and uncertain. She put a paw on her daughter and gave her a shake. “Wake up,” she cooed, voice edged with panic. “Wake up, my dear. Please wake up. Please, please…”

She stood abruptly, startling Rosetail awake. Her concerns fell on deaf ears as Leopardfoot grabbed her daughter and ran out of the nursery, crying for Featherwhisker as she sprinted across the camp clearing.

The fluffy tom, his silver fur bushed out every which way, tiredly met her at the entrance to his den. “Leopardfoot…?”

She cradled her daughter in her arms, unable to comprehend how stiff her body was. “She won’t wake up! She’s too cold, Featherwhisker, you must help her! Please help her!”

Featherwhisker stared first at the kit, then turned his helpless eyes back up to her. “She’s already gone, Leopardfoot. She must have passed in her sleep.”

“LIAR!” she shrieked. “You don’t believe in her! From the moment she was born you thought they were going to die and now you won’t do anything because you can’t believe otherwise!”

“Leopardfoot—”

“If you won’t help her, I, I’ll—!” She gritted her teeth and spun away, barely able to keep her balance on two legs as she wailed: “I’ll go to another clan! I’ll get another healer who _will_ help her!”

Featherwhisker whisked in front of her, putting his paws to her shoulders. “Come to my den and place her in a nest.”

All the words locked in her throat and she managed a slight nod, taking her sweet daughter and laying her gently in one of the mossy nests that Featherwhisker always had prepared for patients. She climbed in with her while Featherwhisker looked her over.

“I want you to take these,” he said, nudging some star studs towards her. “It’ll help calm you down. You’re very distressed right now.”

She wanted to refuse, but Featherwhisker’s words had her firmly around the scruff. She reluctantly bent and crushed the studs between her teeth and lay waiting for them to cast a haze over her mind.

Just as she was starting to feel sleepy, Featherwhisker said, “I’m sorry, Leopardfoot. I’ve looked her over, but she’s dead. There’s nothing to be done.”

The studs numbed the pain, but not entirely. A low wail built in her chest and she bowed her head against her daughter, sobbing quietly. Featherwhisker crouched beside her, gently lapping at her fur. Another body joined her, and she was vaguely aware of Rosetail joining the healer in quietly grooming her.

“You never named her,” Featherwhisker murmured after a time, as sleep was rising up to take her. “Starclan will be able to send her back to you. You’ll see her again.”

Her chest clenched, but she knew he was right. Sleep rose up like a dark wave to sweep her away, and as it did she silently promised her daughter’s spirit that she would have her name one day.

When she finally returned to the nursery partway through the night, she found that Thrushpelt was there curled around Redkit, Spottedkit, and her unnamed son, telling them a story. She’d frozen at the entrance, having forgotten entirely that she had one last kit left to lose, and it took Rosetail nudging her to make her slip in the rest of the way.

“Leopardfoot, I heard,” Thrushpelt paused his story to say. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded weakly. Meanwhile, her son walked over to her, tucking himself between her legs and up against her belly. He looked up. She looked down. Her heart ached terribly, looking into his beautiful amber eyes.

“Thrushpelt said my sister isn’t coming back,” he said. “Is it true?”

She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing. “Yes, my sweet. It’s true.”

He nestled closer to her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I won’t leave you, Ma.”

Despite her efforts, the tears came free. She crouched down, sheltering her son beneath her. “I know, my son. I know.”

“…Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Do I get my name soon?” he squeaked. “Like Red and Spot?”

Those words peeled her open and salted her wounds. He couldn’t be Darkkit, the name her mate loved so. Could he be anything, she wondered, when he was still so weak and small? Could she bear to name him at all, only to see him pass?

_Saja,_ she thought, desperation gripping her. Her mother had named her for Irves, pleading the goddess for a daughter with swiftness and wit. She knew she could ask the tiger goddess for something similar. _Saja, might I name him in your honour? Will you make him strong? All I ask is that he survive, nothing more._

As that thought passed her mind, thunder cracked above them. She rushed to the entrance, watching in awe as a storm that hadn’t been there as she’d returned to the nursery had unleashed its burden far above, quenching the dying forest and revitalising it anew.

She closed her eyes, letting the cool, damp breeze ghost across her face. Finally, she turned back to her son.

“Yes,” she said. “In fact, I will ask your father to announce your name tomorrow.”

* * *

In the aftermath of the storm, the clearing was green with plant life. It was as if the forest had let out a great sigh of relief. A cool breeze and rolling clouds promised there was more rain to come, as well.

A perfect day for the clan to gather beneath the rock tumble at Pinestar’s call. His deputy, the recently named Bluefur after Sunfall had suffered an injury that made breathing hard, sat dutifully at its base. She would be a good deputy, Leopardfoot thought. Already she looked across the clan, a look of pride and fierce protection painting her features.

“Today I’ve gathered you here to welcome a new clan member,” Pinestar announced. Beneath him, Leopardfoot sat beside her son, who vibrated with barely contained excitement. “Leopardfoot’s son has reached his third month and has finally been named. Named to honour Saja, may he hunt like the night and fight like fire, let us welcome Tigerkit to the clan!”

All around her clanmates cheered. Extra hard, knowing that Tigerkit’s sister had died the night before. Extra hard, perhaps thinking still that Tigerkit would follow. Leopardfoot burned with determination, though. Her son would live. Her son would _thrive._

“But that’s not the only announcement I need to make today,” he continued. The clan’s cheers dissolved to confused murmurs, and even Bluefur shot a curious look up at Pinestar. “I have decided to step down as leader of Thunderclan.”

Leopardfoot’s blood ran cold as White-eye called out: “Aren’t you a bit young to be retiring?”

Pinestar closed his eyes and folded back his ears. “I’m not retiring,” he said. “I’m leaving. After today, I will no longer be a member of Thunderclan.”

She could only stare in shock while the clan around her rose up with cries of anger and outrage. How could he do this? they yelled. Which clan would he go to? Why would he leave now when the clan was doing so well?

“Allow me to answer your questions,” he finally spoke, his booming voice drowning out the protests. Only once the clan was silence did he continue: “I do not wish to be the leader of this clan. I do not wish to be a clan cat at all. Life in the forest is hard and it is grueling. Every day I see the cats I love become sick, or injured, or even die.

“How can any cat bear to see that?” he whispered. “How can any cat take up the burden of nine lives, knowing they will outlive so many of their clanmates with those lives?

“And truthfully, I never asked to be leader. The stars were in my father’s blood, and his mother’s before him. My family has led this clan for generations, but I am no longer the leader Thunderclan deserves, nor do I believe I ever was.”

“Why now?!” Leopardfoot didn’t realize it was her yelling, and the words she barked startled her as much as they startled all the cats nearby her. “You’d leave me and your son, just barely named?! Why now, Pinestar?! Why not _tell me_?!”

He tore his eyes away from her. “It is because he’s named. I promised my father a legacy—he knew I never wanted to lead this clan, and he told me to promise a kit to Thunderclan who would one day rule it fine. He told me that if I were to ever leave, it would not be until a child of mine was named, so that they may one day return our bloodline to the path of the stars.

“And now, Leopardfoot, this son of yours and son of mine, the son of Saja herself, has been named. When you came to me this evening and told me his name, I knew I had fulfilled my promise to my father. Finally I can leave, and for that I will forever be grateful to you.”

She stared at him, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. She knew this wasn’t right. That he’d used her. Yet she couldn’t understand why. She’d loved him, bore him kits. She’d done everything right—everything right to the best of her abilities, at least. How was it not enough? How had she not been enough?

“COWARD!” Stormtail spat. Everyone jumped when the normally silent tom strode to the fore of the crowd. “Fucking coward! I saw you kill a dog with my own two eyes! I saw you keep up step for step in battle with Heatherstar herself! I dedicated my life to you, and now you bow out?!”

“You can’t change my mind, Stormtail,” Pinestar said firmly. “I went to the Moonstone and I gave up my lives. I’m no longer Pinestar, and I’m no longer Pinewhisker either. I will go and live in the Houses and we’ll never speak again, but if you ever must speak of me, I ask that you simply call me Pine.”

Without another word, he leapt from the rock tumble and padded towards the entrance. The crowd parted, silence and serious as they watched him leave.

It couldn’t end like this.

“You can’t!” Leopardfoot ran after him, pleading. “Our daughter just died! How can you just leave me?!”

He turned to her, green eyes cold and glazed. “I never loved you, Leopardfoot,” he said. “And I know when we became mates that you knew that. Can you really blame me for that?”

All her fur began to spike up, but the fight had left her as quickly as it had come. She stepped away, hanging her head. He’d never told her that out loud. Never spoken it. But she had known, had she? And she had no one to blame but herself.

“Get out of here!” Her head snapped up, shocked, when Rosetail appeared at her side. Gone was her normal gentle disposition. Now she snapped furiously at Pine, hissing and spitting. “You’re nothing but a dog! Leave!”

Pine didn’t need much more than that. He left, and the clan was cast into silence.

“Ma?”

Leopardfoot turned, unable to feel the horror that she normally would have that her son had witnessed such a display. Without a word, she pulled Tigerkit to her, clutching him tight—and he clung back.

“Cats of Thunderclan,” she didn’t raise her head as Bluefur ascended the rock tumble, speaking proudly to those gathered, “I promise you I knew nothing of Pinest—of Pine’s plans, but I am more than willing to take up leadership in his stead, if you’ll have me.”

“You’re already better than that spineless shit!” Speckletail hollered. The clan yowled in unison, and soon they cheered Bluefur’s name, welcoming her as the new leader of Thunderclan.

Their cheers sounded distant to Leopardfoot as she hugged Tigerkit tighter yet. She’d lost her daughters. She’d lost her mate. And now, a paranoia gripped her. That maybe, if she didn’t hold him tight enough, she would lose her final son next. That Starclan would rip the last thing she ever cared about away from her.

“One day,” she whispered, “you’ll be great. You’ll be greater than your father, my sweet. You’ll be everything he wasn’t—the best leader Thunderclan has ever seen.


End file.
